A Day in the Life at Stalag 13
by Deana
Summary: Snippets of mostly-angsty incidents involving our beloved POWs. Newkirk-centered.
1. Too Close

**Too Close**  
By Deana Lisi  
I don't own any Hogan's Heroes characters. Bummer.

Epilogue to the season 2 episode, 'Swing Shift'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Newkirk sighed as he stood next to Colonel Hogan during roll call, immensely glad that the day was over. They had successfully destroyed the canon factory near Hammelburg, despite Newkirk accidentally being drafted into the German army when he was impersonating the company's foreman. When Klink had walked into the room looking for new guards, and he'd been made one of them, he thought he'd have a heart attack. How would he ever be able to get out of this? He saw Klink walking over to look at the group, and, desperate to cover his face, he'd faked a loud sneeze into a handkerchief. He had to do that several times to prevent Klink from recognizing him, and when the phone rang and announced that Foreman Mueller was discharged from the Army and could go back to his job, Newkirk thought he would faint from sheer relief. He'd pretended to sneeze again when Klink walked closer, and bolted.

_That was too close,_ he thought to himself as he stood in role call. He came back to the present to hear that Klink was giving his usual speech about no escapes, which no one was paying attention to. Suddenly, he wiggled his nose when an odd itch developed inside it.

"…no one has ever been able to fool me!" Klink exclaimed.

Newkirk could've laughed at that, but instead he startled everyone with a huge sneeze. "ACHOOOO!"

Klink stopped.

Hogan looked at Newkirk in shock, unable to believe that he'd do something so foolish in obvious reply to Klink's statement.

Newkirk returned the look as he wiped his nose…with the same orange handkerchief that he'd used in front of Klink in the induction center. His eyes looked very frightened as he realized that he was possibly in very, _very_ deep trouble.

Hogan realized that by some insane irony, Newkirk's sneeze had been a real one. Before Klink could say anything, he turned to Newkirk and bumped him with his shoulder, forcing him back towards the barracks, with everyone else following.

Klink walked forward, shocked and suspicious. Had the new potential guard actually been Newkirk in disguise? He hadn't been able to see the man's face, thanks to the handkerchief he constantly sneezed into…a handkerchief that looked just like the one that Newkirk had just used…it couldn't be…could it?

Hogan took hold of Newkirk's arm and escorted him inside, quickly closing the door once everyone had entered. The minute it was closed, everyone started talking at once.

"Pipe down!" Hogan exclaimed. "Newkirk…I'm guessing that was a _real_ sneeze."

"Of course it was!" said the Englishman, his voice sounding very nervous. "Do ya really think I'd go an' implicate meself like that? Oh, by the way, Colonel Klink, I _did_ fool ya, just today, even, when I escaped from the stalag, impersonated a German, an' helped ta blow up ya bloomin' canon factory!"

"All right, all right, calm down," Hogan said, understanding his panic. Their entire underground operation would be blown if Klink figured out that Mueller had actually been Newkirk, and they'd all face the firing squad.

Newkirk seemed to realize that at the same time that Hogan did, and he paled, abruptly sitting down on the bench at the table.

Carter, always the one to worry about his friends, sat next to him.

"Now wait, let's not lose our heads just yet," Kinch said, always the voice of reason. "Klink's not very bright. What's he supposed to tell the Gestapo, that he arrested Newkirk because he sneezed just like some German he saw today?"

Everyone was quiet, realizing the truth in his statement.

"But what if this is it, mate?" Newkirk said. "Do ya all realize how long we've gotten away with what we've been doin'? Trust somethin' as ridiculous as a bloomin' sneeze ta be the thing that does us all in..."

Hogan went over to the door and opened it slightly, peeking out. Seeing no one approaching, he closed it again and walked back over. "There's nothing we can do but wait and see if Klink figures it out."

In answer to that, Newkirk sneezed again. Wiping his nose, he mumbled, "Told ya it was real."

Hogan pointed at him. "I don't know if you're catching a cold or what, but you better not do that in front of Klink again."

Newkirk lowered the handkerchief. "Trust me, I'll be keepin' a low profile for _quite_ a while…maybe till the end of the war!" He dropped the handkerchief on his lap and put his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands with a deep sigh.

Hogan went back to the door and peeked out it, not seeing Klink or anyone else heading towards their hut.

For the next hour, Newkirk and Hogan constantly looked out the door. The American colonel was desperately rehearsing in his mind what he would say to Klink if the Kommandant came to them with the accusation. Newkirk was scared…not only afraid for his own life, but utterly terrified at the thought of being the accidental tool that would get his friends killed.

By 1am, they realized that Klink would _not_ be coming—at least _that_ night—so everyone went to bed…but none of the five men got any sleep.

When Schultz came in the morning to announce roll call, Newkirk nearly fell off his bunk from fright, his dozing mind thinking that the Germans had come to kill him and the others. His hands were shaking as he got dressed, and he sneezed three times before going outside, not even noticing that he'd done up his coat buttons in the wrong holes.

Winter was fast approaching, and it seemed colder than normal that morning. Newkirk pulled his collar up and kept his nose inside it, in an effort to not only keep himself warm, but to try to cover up the fact that he was holding in sneezes. He could not understand why his body had suddenly betrayed him in this manner…what are the chances that he would fake sneezing to hide from Klink, only to start sneezing for real before the day was through? Insanity.

He decided that he really must be coming down with a cold; his head ached and felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

Suddenly he went _ffft_, and Colonel Klink looked at him.

"Did you say something, Corporal Newkirk?" said the Kommandant.

Newkirk hadn't been paying attention to what he'd been saying, and had no idea if the sound of his held-in sneeze had come at a bad time and appeared as a sarcastic snort, or a laugh, even. "No, sir," he said, his voice sounding nasally.

Klink stared at him for a second.

"Sounded to me like he sighed, Kommandant," said Hogan. "We're _all_ sighing…it's pretty cold out here, and a lot of us don't have nice coats like you."

Klink could have argued that Newkirk had an adequate coat, unlike some of the other prisoners, but he didn't, apparently wanting to go back inside himself. "It is cold out here, isn't it?" he said, pretending not to have noticed. "Fine; that is all. Disssssmissed!"

Everyone turned and gratefully went back into their barracks.

Newkirk climbed right back onto his bunk, coat and all, sneezing his way up the ladder. He laid back down with a sigh, dozing off almost immediately until a hand touched his shoulder and he opened his eyes.

Carter was standing next to his bunk, holding a mug out to him.

Newkirk turned onto his side and raised himself up on his elbow, accepting the cup and taking a sip. Instead of finding the coffee that LeBeau had made for everyone, he found that Carter had specially fixed him a cup of tea. "Ohh, thanks, Andrew," he said, gratefully.

Carter smiled. "You're welcome." He waited until Newkirk drank the whole thing, and then took the empty mug from him.

The five Heroes spent the day talking and catching up on their lost sleep; desperately hoping that Klink—or the Gestapo—wouldn't suddenly barge in and arrest them all.

Newkirk continued to sneeze, and eventually added coughing to the mix, proving that he had indeed caught a cold.

London radioed them that night, giving them a new mission; a German defector had informed them about a telephone pole four miles away from the stalag that had a combination safe built into it, and they wanted Hogan and his Heroes to retrieve its contents.

By the next day, they'd ultimately assumed that Klink had either _not_ made the connection between Newkirk and Mueller, or had decided that it was impossible…after all, there had never been a successful escape from Stalag Thirteen! They were all extremely relieved, and tried to drop their anxiety over the incident.

Newkirk's cold was getting worse, and as the time approached to head out on their mission, he was sure that he now had a fever. But he didn't say anything to the others…what was the point? He was the only one who could open the safe.

Sneezing again as he climbed out their tunnel stump, he had no idea that he would soon come to wish that he'd spoken up and had the mission postponed, as the night's events were about to become just as potentially deadly to him as if Klink _had_ discovered his involvement in the canon factory sabotage…

THE END

See my story, 'The POW Who Came in from the Cold' to pick up where this left off! ;)


	2. Newkirk Wins the War

**Newkirk Wins the War**  
By Deana Lisi  
I don't own any Hogan's Heroes characters. Bummer.

What could have happened in the season 2 episode, 'Swing Shift'!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Newkirk ducked his head, trying to ensure that Klink couldn't see him.

"You have all been assigned as guards at Stalag Thirteen," said the German standing beside Klink.

"The toughest POW camp in all of Germany!" Klink cut in. "Where there's never been a successful escape!"

Newkirk snorted a laugh, realized what he'd done, and fake-sneezed to cover it.

"But ve have a different assignment for vun of you," said the German. "Our Furher needs an extra guard at his compound—"

Before Newkirk could stop himself, he raised his hand. "I vill go!"

The man seemed surprised. "All right…Mueller, is it? Zat is your assignment! Everyone is dismissed!"

Everyone started to leave the room, and to Newkirk's surprise, Klink walked towards him.

"Mueller!" Klink exclaimed.

"ACHOOOO!"

Klink stopped where he was.

Newkirk quickly bolted out the door and followed the other German—Newkirk had no idea what his name was—and was shown outside.

"Zis car vill bring you to zee Furher's compound," the man said. "You vill be vun of his personal guards! For your own good, see that you never make him angry."

Newkirk nodded and saluted him. "Jawohl, und danke."

The man returned the salute, and Newkirk got into the car. Just then, he saw Klink came out of the building, walking towards them.

_Oh, blimey…_Newkirk thought. He 'sneezed' again, covering his face with the handkerchief.

Klink reached the car and peered inside. "Don't let the Furher catch your cold!" he said, with a chuckle.

The other German shot him a look, and Klink instantly stopped.

The drive didn't take long, and soon, Newkirk was inside Hitler's compound. To his shock, he was brought to General Burkhalter.

He quickly covered his face and sneezed again.

"Come vith me," said the General, motioning for Newkirk to follow.

Now very scared, Newkirk walked behind him. _What 'ave I bloody gotten meself into?! _he thought. _Crackers, I am! Sorry, Colonel, looks like ya lost one of ya best men today if I succeed in me loony plan. _He felt very sad, knowing that he hadn't much longer to live and he would miss the others.

Burkhalter opened a door and lead him over to a large desk. The chair behind it was facing them backwards, and it slowly spun around to reveal the person sitting in it.

It was Adolf Hitler, who stood.

Burkhalter shot up his arm in the proper salute, and Newkirk took his chance…the best chance that anyone had ever—and _would_ ever—have.

He removed the gun from his holster and fired it point-blank into Hitler's chest.

Burkhalter was stunned and removed his own weapon, but Newkirk was faster and smashed him on the head with his gun, watching him fall before looking back at Hitler and shooting him again and again, making sure he was truly dead.

Then, Newkirk ran.

Fewer people heard the shots than he'd thought. As he ran, he encountered others and yelled in German that Hitler had been shot, which quickly had them running to their Furher's office.

Suddenly, Newkirk was outside, and he ran around the back of the building and climbed over a fence, landing heavily on the ground and sprinting into the woods. He continued to run, thinking his lungs would explode, and didn't stop until he found himself on the road that would lead him back to the stalag.

Suddenly, without warning, two pairs of hands grabbed him and he gave a cry of fear, knowing that this was it; he was about to be executed.

"Newkirk!" exclaimed a voice, as the hands pulled at him and dragged him back into the woods. "It's us! Calm down!"

"Newkirk!" said another voice. "What happened!"

He finally stopped struggling, realizing that it was Hogan and Carter. When he realized that he was safe—and had actually succeeded in his unexpected war-ending assassination—his legs instantly turned to water and he dropped in a near faint.

He felt Hogan and Carter break his fall and sit him on the ground, where he promptly fell over into Carter's arms.

"Are you okay?!" Carter exclaimed; his voice sounding scared as he held onto his friend. "There's blood all over you!"

Newkirk, eyes closed, could feel Hogan searching his body for a wound. "No…I'm fine…it's not…it's not…mine…" he gasped, trying to catch his breath. He could barely talk and his body was shaking like a leaf.

"Who's is it?" Hogan asked.

Newkirk shook his head, hardly able to believe what he was about to say. "It's Hitler's…I killed Hitler!"

"You _what_?!"

Newkirk's eyes popped open. To his shock, he found himself lying in his bunk back at the stalag.

"Wow!" said Carter, who was standing on the bunk ladder, peering into his friend's face. "That was some dream, boy! I'm sure glad you talked in your sleep!"

Newkirk stared at him, breathing heavily. "A dream?!" he practically shouted. "That was a bloody _dream_?!"

"Did you hear that?" Carter said, looking down the ladder. "He dreamed he killed Hitler!"

Newkirk raised himself up on his elbow and looked over his bunk, sneezing on the way. _Oh, right…_He finally remembered that he'd decided to take a nap, his head aching from the annoying cold that he'd caught.

LeBeau, Kinch, and Hogan all stood there, watching him.

"I don't suppose you now have a great idea to _really_ bump him off, do you?" Hogan asked, in all seriousness.

Newkirk sighed, coughing a little as he lay back down. "It would never work now," he said, and proceeded to tell them his dream.

"Wow," Carter said again. "That must've been scary!"

"Ya 'ave no idea, mate," said Newkirk, throwing an arm over his eyes. "It seemed just as real as we are right now." His noticed that his forehead felt hot, telling him that he now had a fever. _Well, that explains why I killed Hitler in me sleep._

"Well, get some more rest and get rid of that cold," said Hogan. "You never know how soon we might get another mission."

Newkirk nodded and turned onto his side, wondering if any of them would ever be faced with the opportunity that he could've had if things had gone differently that day...

THE END

I bet none of you readers expected that! LOL! Yes, as you can see, 'Swing Shift' is my fav HH ep. LOL


	3. The Pain of Separation

**The Pain of Separation**  
A Hogan's Heroes story by Deana Lisi  
I don't own any Hogan's Heroes characters. Bummer.

Epilogue to the episode 'Sticky Wicket Newkirk'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Newkirk sighed as he sat on the bench outside Barracks Two. The past two days had been a nightmare…he still couldn't believe that any of it had even _happened_. First he'd snuck into town to visit a girl, gotten caught, and been transferred to Stalag Six for 'escaping'. When Klink had given him _that_ for a punishment, he felt his heart drop into his boots. Leave Stalag Thirteen and his friends, and no longer be part of their mission? When Hogan had given him a gun and told him to escape back to England, the thrill of finally going home wasn't even enough to ease the pain of separation; he'd lived under the same roof as Hogan, Carter, LeBeau, and Kinch for almost four years, and felt as if they were his brothers. Could he really go home, now, and leave them? What if one—or all—of them didn't survive till the end of the war? If that happened, then this would be 'goodbye' for _good_...and Newkirk knew that he'd never be the same.

Later, while poor Schultz drove him to Stalag Six, he'd pulled out his gun regretfully—after all, Schultz was his 'friend' too—and had taken off. For a while, he'd sat hidden behind some bushes, in a state of total shock. He _wanted_ to go home to England…eventually. He certainly didn't want to leave like this…not _now_. He and the other four men had vowed to walk out the front gate of Stalag Thirteen together, once the war ended.

How could all this have happened? It wasn't fair!

Finally, after sitting there for who knew how long, he stood, his legs feeling shaky. As he walked further away from the stalag, he realized that he couldn't leave Germany without at least making sure that Gretel, the girl from town, was all right…had she been arrested for 'harboring' an escaped Allied POW?

With a sigh, Newkirk dropped his head into his hands and scrubbed at his face, remembering what he'd done next. _Did I really do somethin' so daft?_ Indeed he had…he'd brought Gretel back to the stalag with him…through the tunnels and up into the barracks…where she'd promptly turned into her true identity: a Gestapo agent.

Thanks to him, the whole team could've faced a firing squad.

A hand suddenly grasped his shoulder, and he looked up, startled. He wasn't surprised to see that it was Colonel Hogan.

"You all right?" Hogan asked, with a frown. He'd been watching the corporal for the past few minutes, and it was obvious that he was suffering.

Newkirk lowered his hands, keeping his elbows on his knees. "No, guv, I'm not," he said, shaking his head.

Hogan sat beside him on the bench, shocked at how pale Newkirk looked. He could plainly see that the corporal's mind was in utter turmoil.

"I just…I can't believe it all," Newkirk told him. "Gretel seemed like such a nice bird…we talked about the war, an' she said 'ow much she 'ated it an' all that. She fooled me, Colonel. I know I'm not perfect, but I didn't see it comin' in a million years." He shook his head. "I mean, when the Germans busted in 'er apartment an' dragged me out, she tried ta stop 'em, tried ta pull me away from 'em. 'ow was I supposed ta know that she was _one_ of 'em?"

Hogan nodded, saying nothing.

"An' then, I brought 'er 'ere an' made everythin' so much worse!" He closed his eyes. "When she suddenly went all Gestapo on us in the barracks, I felt like I couldn't breathe. She'd just seen everythin', thanks ta _me_, an' then she goes right out the door ta tell Klink an' 'ochstetter!" He shook his head again. "I swear, gov, I almost 'ad an 'eart attack."

Hogan put an arm around his shoulders. "While it definitely wasn't the smartest idea you've ever had, I know that you wouldn't have done something like that lightly."

Newkirk seemed surprised. "Ya do?"

Hogan made a face. "Of course! There's been people that I thought were on the level who turned out not to be…and vice versa. Sometimes it's hard to know for sure."

Newkirk sighed. "What a sticky wicket I caused. That's me; Sticky Wicket Newkirk." He paused for a few seconds. "Everyone's mad at me."

"Look at it from their point of view," Hogan told him. "You'd be mad too." He shrugged. "I think everyone was more scared than mad."

"Yeah, we coulda all faced the firin' squad…because of me!" Newkirk dropped his face into his hands again. "Was it a mistake ta 'ave Klink reverse me transfer? Do ya think the others will ever be able ta trust me again?"

Hogan looked surprised at the question, but before he could answer, Newkirk continued.

"Do ya realize that I coulda been recaptured after escapin' from Schultz? That woulda been ironic, eh? All the people we've helped escape, an' then I get nabbed an' live the next few years rottin' at Stalag Six…instead of bein' 'ere, where I belong." He sighed. "Ya know who I woulda missed the most?"

"Carter," Hogan said.

Newkirk looked at him, shocked. "An' 'ow on earth didja know _that_?"

Hogan grinned. "I know _everything_!"

Newkirk rolled his eyes.

Hogan chuckled. "Carter considers you his best friend, you know."

Newkirk's eyebrows shot up. "Really? 'e does?"

The colonel nodded, and now Newkirk had something _else_ to feel guilty for; all the playful insults to Carter that he knew didn't sound very playful.

Hogan suddenly remembered what he was going to say a few minutes ago. "As for when they'll trust you again…no one ever _stopped_ trusting you, Newkirk. You made a wrong choice—and when it comes to bringing someone into the tunnels, you better not do that _ever_ again!— but like you said, no one's perfect."

Newkirk was quiet for a moment. "Thanks, Colonel. Does this mean that ya forgive me, then?"

Hogan nodded. "Of course, and I'm sure that _they_ forgive you too," he said, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder.

Newkirk looked past him to see Carter, Kinch, and LeBeau standing in the doorway.

"Of course we forgive you, mon ami," LeBeau said. "And we're all very sorry for making you feel worse than you did already."

"I forgave you _hours_ ago," said Carter. "In fact, I didn't really even _have_ to. I wasn't _that_ mad."

"There's no hard feelings, Newkirk," said Kinch. "It was bound to happen someday, and could've been any one of us."

Newkirk smiled at them before lowering his eyes, feeling choked up.

"Now I think it's time for you to forgive _yourself_," said Hogan, tightening his grip.

Newkirk sighed, glancing up as his friends surrounded him. "I think that'll take more time, sir."

"Well don't take _too_ long," said Carter. "I've been dying to play Gin all night!"

"Hey, that's a good idea!" said LeBeau.

"Sure is," said Kinch. "Wanna join us, Colonel?"

Hogan nodded. "Why not?"

Carter smiled and pulled Newkirk up off the bench, and his three friends grabbed his arms and walked with him back into the barracks, with Hogan behind them.

At the door, Newkirk looked back at the colonel, and smiled. _Thanks,_ was clearly written in his eyes.

Hogan smiled back. _You're welcome._

THE END


	4. Tales of Carter

**Tales of Carter**  
A Hogan's Heroes story  
By Deana Lisi

Disclaimer: I don't own any Hogan's Heroes characters. Bummer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Carter stood inside the doorway of barracks two, watching Newkirk, who was sitting on the ground outside, leaning against the building. The Englishman didn't look happy…and hadn't all day. When they'd had roll call that morning and Newkirk hadn't participated in the usual quips, Carter had considered it odd, but had thought that maybe his friend was just tired. As the day had worn on and the Englishman had remained quiet and withdrawn, Carter had grown very concerned and started watching him.

Newkirk, unaware of the scrutiny, suddenly sighed and rubbed his forehead, leaving his face in his hand for a longer time than seemed normal.

His concern growing, Carter finally left his spot and walked over to his friend, sitting down on the ground beside him. "Newkirk?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

The Englishman seemed startled, and looked at him. "Of course," he said. "I'm fine."

"You don't look it. What's wrong?"

Newkirk got annoyed at that. "I said I'm fine, Andrew."

Carter studied him. "You look really tired. Didn't you sleep last night?"

Newkirk sighed, realizing that he wasn't going to get away from this conversation. "Not really."

"Why not?"

Newkirk looked at him. "Don't ya ever 'ave a sleepless night once in a while?"

Carter shrugged. "Not often. I usually sleep pretty deep."

Newkirk sighed. "I envy that, mate."

"Of course, I might not sleep good if I'm really worried, or wake up from a bad dream or something," Carter continued.

Newkirk sighed again.

"Are you worried about something?" Carter asked. "Or did you have a bad dream?"

Newkirk looked at him with an amazed expression. "I dunno 'ow ya do it, Andrew."

Carter frowned. "Do what?"

"Read me so well!" Newkirk shook his head. "No one can do that except me mum."

Carter shrugged. "It's not hard to do, you're my best friend."

Newkirk felt oddly choked up at that. He had to clear his throat before he could speak again.

"So which one is it?" Carter asked. "Worried, or a bad dream?"

Newkirk sighed. "Both."

Carter blinked. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I might as well, since ya know about it, now," Newkirk said, sighing yet again. "In me dream, I saw you an' Colonel Hogan in SS uniforms. I was wearin' one too. I…I can't remember 'ow it began, but suddenly there was shootin'. I fired a machine gun in the direction where I thought the shots 'ad come from, an' when it was over, I went ta see what 'appened…" he stopped.

"And?" said Carter.

Newkirk looked up at the sky for a second and took a deep breath before lowering his head. "An' I found ya an' the Colonel…shot dead…by _me_."

Carter blinked.

"It was an accident!" Newkirk exclaimed, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair. "Because of the SS uniforms…I though ya were the enemy." He closed his eyes and shook his head, agitatedly twisting the hat in his hands.

"Wow," said Carter, shocked. "That's awful."

Newkirk sighed. "An' now, I'm afraid that somethin' like that will actually 'appen."

Carter shook his head. "No. That would _never _happen. No sir!"

Newkirk looked at Carter, surprised at his vehemence. "Ya think so? What makes ya so sure?"

Carter nodded. "We're too good at watching each other's backs."

Newkirk looked at him for another few seconds, before he smiled slightly. "Yeah, we are, at that."

"I won't let anything happen to you, and you won't let something happen to _me_," Carter said. "And we won't let something happen to the colonel, and he won't let anything happen to _us_."

"It sounds so simple when ya say it," Newkirk told him.

Carter shrugged with a smile.

Newkirk smiled back before sighing, looking out at the camp. He rubbed his forehead again.

"Your head hurt?" Carter asked.

"Yeah. Probably from losin' sleep last night."

"Why don't you take a nap?"

Newkirk shook his head. "I can't go ta sleep now…that dream was too realistic! I keep seein' it in me 'ead! I don't even know if I'll be able ta fall asleep _tonight_!"

Carter sighed. "I wish there was something I could do to help." He suddenly snapped his fingers. "I know! How about I tell you about my life back home? That'll take your mind off your dream."

Newkirk inwardly flinched, knowing that once Carter started talking—_really_ talking—he'd never stop.

"I remember the day I got my driver's license…"

And so, for the next hour, Newkirk was regaled with Tales of Carter.

"…and when I got to the school dance, I saw some bully trying to make Mary Jane dance with him, and it was obvious that she didn't want to, so I—"

_*plop*_

Carter looked to his right and found Newkirk's head lying on his shoulder. The Englishman was fast asleep.

Carter smirked. "Works every time!"

THE END


	5. What's in a Name?

**What's in a Name?**  
A Hogan's Heroes story  
By Deana Lisi

I don't own any Hogan's Heroes character. Darn it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Oooh, it's bloody 'ot in 'ere…"

"What was your first clue?"

Newkirk didn't answer LeBeau.

It was early afternoon at Stalag Thirteen, right in the middle of summer. The week had been hotter than usual, and everyone was feeling it. The barracks were like ovens, draining the strength out of everyone's bodies. Uniform jackets and shirts had been flung to stay wherever they landed.

Newkirk sighed, finally working up the energy to answer. He tried to lift up his head from where he lay on his bunk, but his body didn't want to obey him. He opened his mouth to speak, but frowned instead. "What was the question?" he asked.

No one answered.

Eventually, Carter piped up. "I'm bored."

"Bored?" said LeBeau, incredulous.

"Yeah. I wish we had something to do."

"Don't ya feel the stiflin' 'eat?" said Newkirk, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. "I'm dyin' from 'eatstroke over 'ere, an' 'e wants somethin' ta do..."

"Well," said Carter. "It _would_ get our minds off this heat."

"Something like what?" Kinch asked.

"I dunno," said Carter. "Maybe a word game or something."

"I 'ave five words for ya," said Newkirk. "Be-Quiet-I'm-Tryin'-To-Sleep."

"That's six words," said LeBeau.

"Yeah, yeah, who's countin'…" Newkirk slurred, sounding like he really _was_ falling asleep.

Silence reigned for a minute, before Carter spoke again. "I know—!" he exclaimed, stopping when the bunkbed frame abruptly shook.

"Carter!" Newkirk shouted. "Ya startled the bloomin' daylights outta me!"

"Oh," said the American. "Sorry! I didn't realize you were _really_ sleeping!"

"Well what d'ya think I _said_ it for?"

"Sorry!"

Newkirk sighed, and said nothing more.

Another quiet minute passed.

"Newkirk?" Carter whispered.

"Wha?"

"Are you awake?"

Another sigh. "I am _now, _Andrew. _Again_."

"What I was gonna say was, I have an idea about what we can do, and we can stay right where we are while we do it!"

"And what's that, Carter?" Kinch asked.

"Well, we know so much about each other, right, but not _everything_! I say we tell each other our middle names!"

No one spoke for a minute.

"Ya woke me up for _that_?!" said Newkirk.

"Well," said Carter. "Like I said, it'll take our minds off the heat."

"So would sleepin'," Newkirk answered.

Carter sighed. "Fine, forget I said anything."

Everyone fell quiet again.

Newkirk closed his eyes, relieved, but a minute later he started feeling guilty and reopened them. "Carter?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry, mate, the 'eat is makin' me grumpy. Go ahead, play ya game." He felt the bunkbed frame shift as Carter apparently sat up.

"Okay!" said the American. "You go first!"

"Me?"

"Yeah, Newkirk, what's your middle name?" LeBeau piped up.

"Me middle name is 'James'."

"WHAT?!" said Carter.

Newkirk felt the wooden frame shift again. He reopened his eyes, and almost had a heart attack when he found Carter's face peering into his own. "Carter! What the bloomin'—"

"Your middle name is 'James'?!" Carter exclaimed.

"Yeah, why?!"

"Because that's _my_ middle name! Andrew James Carter!"

Newkirk inwardly cringed, knowing that he'd never hear the end of this, but he couldn't help but smile. "Really, now? Pleased ta meet ya, mate."

Carter grinned.

"Did your friends call you 'PJ'?" Kinch asked.

"Yeah, an' me sister too, all the time," Newkirk said. "She still does."

Carter gawked again. "Seriously? My friends and family called me 'AJ'! Wow! Do you mind if I call you that? I'll call you PJ and you can call me AJ, and only the four of us will know what we're talking about, and—"

"What's all the racket?" said another voice, as Colonel Hogan came out of his quarters. "Carter, what in the world has you so excited?"

Carter turned, from where he still stood on the ladder beside Newkirk's bunk. "Colonel! Newkirk and I have the same middle name!"

"Really?"

"Yup! Our middle name is 'James'! He's PJ and I'm AJ!"

Hogan smiled. "That's quite a coincidence! And how do _you_ feel about this, _PJ_?"

Everyone chuckled.

"Sorry mate, I'm too busy dyin' from the 'eat ta be able ta think," Newkirk said, sounding like he was falling asleep again.

"Well, I think we might get some relief from that," said Hogan.

"Relief?" said LeBeau. "How?"

"Didn't anyone hear the thunder a few minutes ago?"

Everyone chorused 'no'.

Carter jumped down from the ladder and opened the barracks door. It thundered again as he looked out. "Dark clouds are coming in! Oh I hope it rains! We can all go outside in it and cool off!"

"Don't get your hopes up too high yet," said Kinch. "This could be one of the cases where we get to hear the storm but it doesn't reach us."

"True." Carter sighed and went to sit back down on his bunk. "Hey Colonel," he said. "What's _your_ middle name?"

"Edward."

"That's what I always assumed," said LeBeau. "From the 'E' on your jacket."

Hogan nodded and sat at their table. "There aren't very many American names that begin with 'E'. How about yours, LeBeau?"

"Leroy."

No one expected the half-asleep Newkirk to chuckle. "Louis Leroy LeBeau? Sounds like ya mother liked the letter 'L'!"

"Oui, she did. My brother is Leonard Lionel LeBeau!"

"That's a mouthful! What about yours, Kinch?" Carter asked.

"I don't have one," said their radioman.

"You don't have a middle name?!" said Carter. "That's not fair! We'll have to _give_ you one!" Sudden inspiration dawned on his face. "Howabout 'James'! Then all three of us can have the same middle name!"

Kinch shot him a puzzled look. "I don't think that would work, _AJ_."

Carter smiled at the use of his nickname, before frowning. "Why not?"

"Well…maybe because my _first_ name is 'James'?"

The room erupted in laughter.

Carter blushed. "Oh yeah." Then his eyebrows shot up. "Wow! Your first name is 'James' and mine and Newkirk's middle name is 'James'! What are the chances!"

"Blimey…'ow can 'e 'ave such energy in this blisterin' 'eat…?" Newkirk mumbled.

Suddenly, it thundered again, and tiny plopping sounds could be heard.

"RAIN!" Carter shouted. He ran to the door and opened it. Sure enough, intermittent spatters of water started hitting the ground.

Everyone climbed off their bunks. Half-asleep Newkirk almost fell down his ladder.

Lightning flashed and thunder sounded again, and the slow rain abruptly turned into a downpour. As one, each man ran outside, relishing the feel of the cool water.

"Feel better now, _PJ_?" Carter asked Newkirk.

The Englishman smiled, sighing with relief. "Indeed I do, _AJ_." He looked up towards the sky, closing his eyes. "Blimey, that feels good!"

Eventually, the prisoners in the other barracks came outside too, filling the camp with the odd sight of grown men running around in the rain like children.

Eventually, Schultz came running over to them. "Isn't this wonderbar!" he exclaimed.

"Sure is, Schultzie!" Newkirk exclaimed, sitting down on the ground while the rain continued to pelt him.

Carter sat beside him. "Hey Schultz! I got a question for you!"

"Yes?" the guard asked, taking off his helmet and pointing his face towards the sky.

"What's your middle name?"

Schultz looked down at them. "My middle name? It is Jakob."

"Yah-kooob?"

"No no, like 'YAH-kob'. It is the German version of the name 'James'."

Carter and Newkirk looked at each other in shock before looking back up at the guard. "WHAT?!" they both exclaimed.

THE END


	6. A Nightingale Sang in Berkely Square

**A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square  
**A Hogan's Heroes story by Deana Lisi  
I don't own any character from Hogan's Heroes. Darn it!

Okay, now, I know that this story is going to seem uncharacteristic for Newkirk, but it's an actual skit that was performed by Richard Dawson and Larry Hovis in character as Newkirk and Carter on the 'Hogan's Heroes Sing the Best of WWII' record. My purpose of writing this oneshot and expanding on their skit is that there was definite emotion on Newkirk's part while he sang the song which was implied, and not spoken. (No, it's not slash; get your minds out of the gutter!) Anyone who wants to hear it can email me. (Dawson adorably kept his accent while he sang! You'll end up saying, 'aww!' if you listen to it!) LOL

***************

Newkirk stood outside the barracks, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the building. Schultz had been by an hour ago with their mail, which had been misplaced for the past couple of days. He wished that the German guard hadn't found it so close to lights-out, as Newkirk had received a letter from the girl that he'd left behind when he'd gone to war. They'd considered marriage just before the RAF had ruined it by sending him his orders, and he certainly hadn't expected to become a POW and remain stuck in Germany. With an angry sigh, he threw the cigarette down. Now he'd have all those thoughts rolling around in his mind while he lay in bed, and he hated sleepless nights.

Sighing again, he reentered the barracks. He saw one of his friends sitting at the table, and said, "'ello, Carter," in an attempt to appear normal.

"Hi Newkirk."

Something in Carter's voice didn't sound right, and Newkirk looked at him. "What's the matter?"

Carter glanced up. "Oh, I'm trying to write a letter to my girl in London, but…" he gestured to the pencil and paper in front of him. "I just can't think of anything to say."

_Can't think of anythin' ta say?_ Newkirk thought. _I can think of plenty._ "Don't be silly…I mean, why don't ya just write ta 'er, an' tell 'er 'ow ya remember all the nice little things that 'appened ta both of ya."

"Oh, I'm not good with words," Carter said.

Newkirk leaned against the bunkbed frame. "Well, Carter, I'll tell ya what I'll do," he said. "I'll tell ya what ta say an' ya just write it down, alright?"

Carter smiled. "Okay."

Newkirk inwardly sighed, knowing he was only going to make himself feel worse now. He started to sing: "That certain night…the night we met…there was magic abroad in the air." He paused. "There were angels dining…at the Ritz…an' a nightingale sang…in Berkley Square."

Carter, after initially surprised to hear Newkirk start singing, paused in writing it down to look up at Newkirk and smile.

Newkirk smiled back, a little sadly, and continued, "I may be right…I may be wrong, but I'm perfectly willing ta swear…that when ya turned an' smiled at me…" he almost stopped, feeling choked up. "A nightingale sang…in Berkley Square." He closed his eyes, remembering. "The moon that lingered over London town…poor puzzled moon, 'e wore a frown. How could he know we two were so in love…" he almost got choked up again. "Why the whole darn world seemed…upside down. The streets of town…were paved with stars. It was such a…a romantic…affair." He stopped singing, whispering now, as he almost seemed to be back in Berkley Square again, the night before he went to war. "An' as we kissed…an' we said…goodbye…a night-nightingale…sang…in…" He suddenly realized that there were tears in his eyes, and he opened them and blinked, seeing Carter staring. Embarrassed, he said, "Well that's all ya need, Carter. Just…tell 'er that ya love 'er…" He shook his head and shrugged. "An' say that ol' Newkirk says 'ello."

Carter could never be fooled by his friend, something that occasionally annoyed Newkirk. "Were you ever in Berkely Square?" he asked, sounding like he knew the answer.

Newkirk sighed, wistfully. "Once, Andrew. Just once." He stood and climbed up to his bunk. "G'night."

"Goodnight," said Carter, looking down at the letter. "And thanks."

Newkirk lay on his side, watching as Carter reread it, added a couple more words, and folded it up with a grin. Smiling himself, Newkirk thought he heard a nightingale's song outside his window as he fell asleep.

THE END  
*sniff sniff!*

Now, in case you didn't read the author note and are currently sitting at your computer saying to yourself, 'what the bloody 'ell was that?!' I said that I know that this story is going to seem uncharacteristic for Newkirk, but it's an actual skit that was performed by Richard Dawson and Larry Hovis in character on the 'Hogan's Heroes Sing the Best of WWII' record. All the dialogue here was theirs; I just added all their thoughts, motions, (since we don't get to see any of it! Too bad they didn't have DVD's in those days instead of LPs) the part at the beginning before Newkirk went into the barracks, and the last couple of lines. Wasn't it sweet! (And sad!)


	7. Routine Mission

**Routine Mission**  
A Hogan's Heroes story by Deana Lisi  
I don't own any Hogan's Heroes character. Bummer.

This is a missing scene from 'The Antique', season 5. In that episode, Newkirk and Carter explain to Hogan the insanity of what happened when they went to wind the cuckoo clocks in Klink's quarters. I felt cheated that we never got to actually SEE it, so I wrote it myself. The dialogue at the very end of my story is directly taken out of the episode, word for word.

If you want to see the scene I'm talking about, go to youtube and type in 'Hogan's Heroes The Antique'. The first search result should be my clip of it!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Wind the clocks," Newkirk mumbled, sounding annoyed. "Why couldn't we 'ave done this _before_ they were put into the ruddy closet?"

"Aw, don't worry, Newkirk," said Carter. "This should be a piece of pie."

Newkirk rolled his eyes, but refrained from correcting his friend's incorrect phrase for the hundredth time. Peeking out the barracks door, he saw the guards walking around the camp, ensuring that none of the prisoners left their huts. "Come on," he said. "We'll crawl ta barracks three an' figure out the route from there."

Carter nodded and followed.

Newkirk quickly ran out the door and crouched on the ground, looking behind himself as Carter did the same. They both started to crawl, but just as they reached the other hut, the searchlight shined directly on them.

"ACHTUNG!" they heard.

Newkirk threw himself towards the cover to the plumbing crawlspace underneath the barracks and quickly opened it. "Get in!" he told Carter.

The American complied, trying to hurry so Newkirk could get inside too before the Germans caught them. He felt his friend bump into his legs, and looked behind himself to see Newkirk crawling alongside him.

"Hurry!" Newkirk said. He made it to the opposite side and peered out the other door. "The delousin' station is right there," he said. "We'll crawl there an' jump into a window."

Carter nodded—not that Newkirk could see him in the dark—and watched as the Englishman opened the small door and crawled out, dashing over to the other building. He quickly did the same, and jumped through the window that Newkirk had already opened.

Newkirk climbed in after him and closed the window. They both ran to the other side of the hut and he opened the door. "Klink's quarters are right there. Let's go!"

Carter followed as Newkirk ran. Sirens were blaring and the searchlights were sweeping the entire camp, almost catching them in their beams more than once.

Newkirk, lockpick in hand, grabbed the door handle and quickly shoved it in, frantically moving it around until the door opened, and they both ran in and slammed the door shut behind them.

The sudden sound of barking dogs filled the air, and Newkirk leaned against the wall, briefly closing his eyes.

"Boy, that was close," Carter remarked.

Newkirk took a deep breath. "Ya can say that again, mate." He looked around. "The closet with the clocks is on the second floor."

Carter nodded and they both headed towards the stairs, quickly climbing them. The entered the small bedroom, found the clocks, and started winding. They'd gotten most of them done when they suddenly heard an unexpected voice.

"Is someone in here?"

"Schultz!" said Carter.

Newkirk shook his head. "Figures." He went over to the door, only to realize that Schultz was coming up the stairs. "We gotta get outta 'ere right now!"

"We'll have to jump out the window!" said Carter.

"Out the—we're on the _second_ floor!" Newkirk exclaimed. "It's a twenty-foot drop!"

"Well how else are we gonna get out!"

Newkirk shook his head again and ran over to the window, opening it and sticking his head out before looking at Carter. "If I don't survive this, put on me gravestone, 'the poor sod thought 'e could fly'." With that, he climbed out and disappeared.

Carter did the same, realizing with shock that Newkirk hadn't exaggerated…it really _did_ appear to be a twenty-foot drop. Fear laced through him, but before he had time to panic, his feet touched the ground and he fell to his hands and knees.

The sound of barking dogs was thankfully not too close to their location, and Carter glanced around. "Newkirk!" he said. He received no answer, and to his shock, he realized that his friend was lying on the ground a few feet away, not moving.

Newkirk's words, 'if I don't survive this' flashed through Carter's mind, and he gasped, crawling over and checking his pulse. He sighed with relief when he found it, beating steadily. "Newkirk! Newkirk!"

But the Englishman didn't move.

Carter stood and looked around the side of the building, seeing Schultz come out the door and run back towards the barracks. It seemed that the search was being called off, as no one had been found. Relieved about that, he went back over to Newkirk and knelt beside him.

"Newkirk?" he said, gently tapping his face. "Newkirk, wake up, buddy!" A minute later, he heard a groan.

"Oooh, me 'ead…"

Carter smiled. "Thank God! Are you okay?"

Newkirk raised a hand to his eyes, covering them with another groan. "What 'appened?"

"We jumped out the window and you knocked yourself out!"

"What?" Newkirk suddenly realized that they were still outside. He quickly sat up, before closing his eyes and grabbing Carter's arm as if to keep himself upright.

"Hey, be careful," Carter told him. "I think you hit your head."

"Oh, did I _really_?" Newkirk replied, sarcastically. He blinked his eyes and raised a hand to his head, finding a bump. "Blimey…'ow long was I out?"

"Just a few minutes."

"Long enough then. The colonel is probably wonderin' what 'appened ta us." He sighed, thinking for a minute. "We'll 'ave ta crawl past the machine guns an' go through the wire…"

"Over the wire! It's electrified!"

"Through the wire, _through_ the wire! Me 'ead 'urts, Andrew, don't confuse me!"

"Sorry," Carter said, contrite. "What about the searchlights?" he asked, more quietly.

Newkirk looked at his watch. "They'll be changin' the guard soon. We'll wait till they do, an' go into the tunnel."

Carter nodded. "Good idea!" He stood and helped his friend to his feet, holding onto him to make sure he had his balance.

"I'm okay," Newkirk told him. "Let's go."

With that, the two men darted behind the next building, before dropping to the ground and crawling towards the machine gun emplacements. They made it without incident, and quickly found the section of wire that they'd long-ago fixed to open like a door.

Carter reached up and opened it, letting Newkirk crawl out before he went through himself and closed it again. They hid behind a tree, watching the searchlight go back and forth past the tree stump.

Suddenly, it stopped.

"That's it!" said Carter. "Run!" He grabbed Newkirk's arm and sprinted away, the two of them running full-tilt.

Suddenly, the searchlight moved in their direction.

Carter stopped, making Newkirk bump into him. They ran out of the light's path, and were surprised when it stopped again, as if someone had accidentally bumped it. Not wasting time, they ran towards the stump again and finally reached it, with Carter yanking it open.

Newkirk climbed down first. Reaching the bottom, he sighed with relief as he headed over to Hogan and the others. "Oh, blimey!" he said.

"It's a miracle!" Carter exclaimed, behind him.

"Everything go all right?" Hogan asked, concerned.

"Yeah," said Newkirk. "We crawled to barracks three, an'…" he paused, out of breath. "…we got pinned down by the searchlights."

Carter cut in. "But we crawled under the barracks and through the delousing station, and we got to Klink's quarters just before they released the dogs!"

"We were windin' the clocks, an' ol' Schultz came in!" Newkirk exclaimed.

"So we jumped out through the back window," said Carter.

"It was only a twenty-foot drop," Newkirk said, sarcastically.

Carter glanced apologetically at his friend. "And when Newkirk came to, we crawled past the machine gun emplacements and over the electric wire."

_Through the wire, Carter, __through__ it!_ Newkirk thought, still trying to catch his breath. "We-we got back 'ere while they were changin' the guard."

Hogan and LeBeau glanced at each other; not seeming surprised to hear the trouble that they'd faced. "In other words, just a routine mission," Hogan said.

Newkirk blinked. "Yeah."

"Yeah, that's right," said Carter.

Realizing how ridiculous the whole thing sounded, they gave each other a sheepish look.

THE END  
LOL!


	8. History Repeats Itself

**History Repeats Itself  
**A Hogan's Heroes story by Deana Lisi  
I don't own any of the Hogan's Heroes characters. Bummer

***************

Colonel Hogan looked behind himself as gunshots filled the air. A German patrol had spotted him and Newkirk as they'd returned from a meeting with a new Underground contact. Something had seemed fishy about the whole thing, so Newkirk had volunteered to go with him, and they'd dressed in civilian clothes and used fake names. It was a good thing, as their instincts had proven correct; it had indeed been a trap.

Hogan looked behind himself again and risked stopping, as Newkirk wasn't visible. He could hear the corporal running, and looked around; making sure that no Germans were in sight.

Newkirk finally almost caught up with him, and motioned for Hogan to keep going, but the colonel didn't, wanting to get behind his man to ensure that he wouldn't loose sight of him again.

A German soldier suddenly came out of the woods in front of them, behind Hogan, whose back was turned.

"Colonel!" Newkirk shouted. "Look out!"

Hogan turned, but it was too late. The German fired, and he felt himself thrown to the ground. Raising his gun, he managed to shoot the man, who fell. Quickly looking down at himself, he saw that he hadn't been shot, and he jumped to his feet, turning to grab Newkirk's arm.

But nothing was there.

Looking back at the ground, Hogan gasped at the sight of Newkirk lying in the grass, with a large red stain spreading over his midsection.

The shots seemed to be getting further away, as the rest of the German patrol had perhaps run in the wrong direction. Hogan dropped to his knees, checking the Englishman for a pulse, his own heartbeat frantic. "Newkirk!" he said, nervously. "Don't do this to me…not again!"

***************

_Seven Years Earlier…_

Major Hogan of the United States Air Force looked at the row of young Englishmen. "You have all been chosen to learn to fly the B-17. I have been assured of the skill that each you contain, and am eager to begin your training." He walked in front of each one, looking at each of their faces.

At the sight of one of the men, however, he stopped. "You're a private?" he said, before looking at his nametag. "Newkirk."

The young man nodded. "Yes sir!"

Hogan looked at the rest of the men, who were all corporals, at least. "You must be particularly skilled, to be included in this class."

One corner of Newkirk's mouth lifted up before he caught himself. "I like ta think so, sir!"

Despite the near-failure of his military composure, Hogan decided that he liked the young man. "Well then, it looks like I already found my star pupil."

He'd been right. Private Newkirk had proven himself to be an excellent pilot. On the last day of the training, the class was almost over when a man dressed as an officer suddenly came into the room and started shooting.

Hogan had barely even seen the man before someone roughly pushed him to the floor. He instinctively rolled to his stomach and pulled out his gun, looking for cover, when he heard someone gasp nearby.

Private Newkirk lay beside him, arms wrapped around his midsection, where blood was quickly pooling onto the floor.

Hogan was stunned at the sight, especially when he realized that the Private had just saved his life. He grabbed the young man and quickly dragged him behind a counter, laying him on his back.

"Newkirk?" he said, searching for the wound. He glanced at his face to see the Private's eyes closed. "Open your eyes, Newkirk! Stay with me!"

The young Private groaned, gasping for air.

Hogan found the wound on the Englishman's right side. Peeking over the counter, he couldn't see the shooter. Bullets continued to fly around the room, and he looked back down at Newkirk, before pressing his hands over the wound in an attempt to control the bleeding.

Newkirk gave a cry of agony that tore into Hogan's heart.

"Hold on, Newkirk, hold on…you're gonna be fine," he said. "Talk to me, Private!"

Newkirk said nothing, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"Newkirk, answer me!" Hogan persisted, trying to keep him conscious. "How old are you?"

"T-twenty f-five…" the private said.

_Too young to die, _Hogan thought, a rock growing in his stomach. _Too young to go to war! _"Do you have any siblings?"

"Sister…ohhh…that…bloody…'urts!"

Hogan almost smiled. Newkirk's personality definitely had a spunk that the military had been unable to rid him of.

The shooting suddenly stopped. Hogan looked over the counter to see the gunman lying on the floor, apparently dead. "Someone get help!" he shouted. "Private Newkirk's down!"

He heard people running out of the room, and he looked back at Newkirk. "Help is coming," he said.

But Newkirk laid immobile, eyes closed.

A stab of fear laced through Hogan's chest. "Newkirk? Newkirk!"

_End of flashback…_

***************

"Newkirk!" Hogan said, unable to believe that history was repeating itself. "Don't do this to me again, Private!"

"Who…ya callin'…a 'Private', _Major_?"

Hogan came back to the present, to see Newkirk's eyes open. Shining his flashlight, he found the wound on the corporal's right side…barely three inches from the noticeable scar of seven years ago. He also found, to his shock, that the wound didn't appear to be serious: the bullet had struck at the very edge of his side, going in and out. It was hard to tell if it had nicked a rib or not, but it had definitely gone nowhere near vital organs…unlike the _other_ wound, which Private Newkirk had barely survived…

"Ohhh…" Newkirk suddenly groaned; squeezing his eyes shut again. "That bloody 'urts!"

Hogan almost laughed, to hear him repeat the very same words. He pressed his hands over the wounds.

Newkirk gasped in pain. "'ow bad is it?"

"Not as bad as last time," Hogan said.

Newkirk knew exactly what he meant, and was very relieved to hear that. He groaned again. "It 'urts just as much!" he complained.

"It's _bleeding_ just as much." Hogan looked around, trying to figure out how far they were from their tunnel. "We almost made it back," he said, removing his belt. He unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and placed it over Newkirk's wounds before wrapping the belt around him and fastening it tightly.

Newkirk inhaled sharply, trying not to groan.

"Come on," Hogan said. "Before that patrol comes back." He got an arm under Newkirk's back and carefully sat him up, wincing himself at the pain that he knew he was causing the Englishman.

Newkirk, to his credit, tried his hardest not to groan, but he didn't fully succeed. His eyes were squeezed shut so tightly that he couldn't open them if he tried, and he felt Hogan take his arm and pull it over his shoulders, gently pulling him up from the ground.

Hogan wrapped his arm around Newkirk's back, glancing at the scarf and belt to ensure that they'd stayed put. "Come on, Newkirk, walk," he said.

The corporal obeyed with difficulty. Despite the wound not being too serious, every step caused agony.

The stump came into view, and Hogan gently sat Newkirk against it and opened it, climbing partly down the ladder and calling to whoever was within earshot. Whoever heard him must have alerted the others, for all three of them came out of the stump.

When LeBeau saw the blood, he almost fainted and fell right back down the ladder.

Hogan grabbed his arm. "Go back and get the first aid supplies."

White-faced, the Frenchman complied.

"What happened?!" Carter exclaimed, kneeling and grabbing Newkirk's arm.

"Not now, Carter," said Hogan, looking around to make sure no Germans saw them. "Go back inside and guide him down."

Carter obeyed, and Kinch and Hogan got Newkirk up and on the ladder, holding onto him from above as Carter grabbed him from below.

Once safely inside, Carter helped Newkirk over to a cot, and carefully laid him down. He looked at the scarf and belt, the location of the wound scaring the daylights out of him.

"It's not bad," he suddenly heard.

Looking at Newkirk's face, he found his friend's eyes open. "Not bad?!" he exclaimed. He gestured to the wound. "How can you call that 'not bad'!"

"Because it's not," said Hogan, jumping off the ladder and rushing over. "It's bad enough, but not bad."

Carter and LeBeau looked at each other. "I'm confused," they both said.

Hogan shook his head, checking the belt to make sure it hadn't moved. "You'll see."

At that, LeBeau swayed into Carter, who pushed him towards the other room.

Hogan explained what had happened, as they hovered around Newkirk and let the belt hopefully stop the bleeding. Carter grew more scared as the scarf turned redder, but the progression finally halted.

Newkirk tried to stay conscious, but eventually lost the battle.

Carter winced at the sight of the wounds when Hogan removed the belt and scarf, but sighed with relief when he finally understood the colonel's 'not bad' statement; Newkirk had definitely been very lucky.

The bleeding had mostly stopped, so they stitched the wounds and dressed Newkirk in one of his uniforms before making him as comfortable as they could on the cot, not wanting to risk more bleeding by trying to manhandle his unconscious body up the barrack's ladder.

When Newkirk awoke a few hours later, he couldn't stop himself from groaning. His brain felt like he was floating, showing him that he'd lost a decent amount of blood.

"How do you feel?" he heard.

Opening his eyes, he blinked blearily at the face above him. "Colonel?" he said.

Hogan nodded.

Newkirk closed his eyes again and sighed, wincing when it pulled at the wounds. He groaned again.

"That good, huh?" said Hogan.

Newkirk reopened his eyes, smiling slightly. He saw that Hogan wasn't smiling though. Before he could say anything, the colonel spoke again.

"Roll call is in less than an hour. We should get you up into the barracks." He went over to the radio, which was being manned by Carter, who wanted to be there when his friend woke up. "Carter?"

The American snapped out of his doze, looking towards Newkirk. "He's awake!"

Hogan nodded. "Let's get him up the ladder."

Carter nodded and went over to the cot, studying his friend. "How you feeling, buddy?"

"Just dandy," Newkirk said, wincing as he tried to sit up.

The others helped him, and pulled him up between themselves, holding on tightly when Newkirk swayed dangerously.

Newkirk tightly closed his eyes, dizzy from blood loss. He suddenly felt his hands placed on the ladder rungs, not remembering even walking to it.

Hogan climbed up a couple steps before grabbing Newkirk's arm and pulling him up, glad that this ladder was wider than the one in the tunnel stump. When they finally reached the top, he hopped over the rail and carefully helped Newkirk climb over, before assisting him to Carter's bunk.

Newkirk closed his eyes, before voices reached his ears and he realized that most of the barrack's occupants were awake, having heard all the noise. "Sorry, mates," he called, weakly.

Everyone quickly reassured their wounded friend that they didn't mind. 'I was already up,' was called back, to which everyone suspiciously replied 'me too'.

"I think you two should switch bunks," LeBeau's voice suddenly said.

Newkirk and Carter both gave him a puzzled look.

"Oh," said LeBeau. "I mean _permanently_! You're unable to climb up to your own half the time!"

"Ha ha," said Newkirk, closing his eyes again. He'd just started to doze off when the door opened, and Schultz came inside.

"ROLL CALL!" he exclaimed. "ROLL—" he stopped when he saw everyone already awake and up. "Oh."

"You're five minutes late, Schultz!" said Hogan. "We've been waiting for you!"

"Five minutes late!" Schultz looked at his watch. "Not according to _my_ watch!"

Hogan looked at his own. "Oh, silly me. It looks like my watch stopped at five-past, this time yesterday. Actually, five minutes from _now_, this time yesterday. Sorry guys!" he said to the other prisoners, who all groaned.

Schultz rolled his eyes. "Jolly jokers." He walked outside, and the prisoners followed.

"Up and at 'em, Newkirk," Hogan said. "Roll call waits for no one."

Newkirk groaned again, as much in annoyance as pain.

They helped him up once more and supported him out the door, where Carter had to let go to head to his spot in line.

"What ya gonna tell Klink?" Newkirk whispered, weakly.

Hogan had no time to explain, seeing Klink walking over before Schultz had even finished counting. "Try to stand a little straighter," Hogan whispered.

Newkirk made an incredulous sound, but tried anyway. He didn't succeed very well.

"Newkirk?" said Schultz, frowning at the sight of Colonel Hogan apparently holding him up. "What happened?"

"He has a terrible stomachache," said Hogan.

Schultz immediately stepped back.

"What's going on here?" said Klink. "What is wrong with your man, Colonel Hogan?"

"He has a terrible stomachache, Herr Kommandant!" Schultz answered for them.

Klink took _two_ steps back.

"It's prob'ly somethin' I ate, sir," Newkirk said, weakly.

"But just in case," said Hogan, having to strengthen his grip when Newkirk sagged a little more and groaned. "I think you might want to cut this short?"

Klink nodded vigorously. "Are they all here, Schultz?"

"Yes, Kommandant!"

"Good! Disssssmissed!" With that, Klink hurried away.

Schultz looked at them as Carter came over to help. "Colonel Hogan! There is blood on you!"

Hogan glanced to where Schultz was pointing, to a small stain on his shirt. "Oh. It's not mine, Schultz."

"Then whose…?" Schultz looked at Newkirk, and understanding dawned on his face. "I know nothing! Noooooothing!"

"Good. We'll all—including _you—_be safer that way," Hogan told him.

Schultz watched them walk back into the barracks, before quickly hurrying away.

Once inside, Hogan and Carter gently laid Newkirk back on the bunk, watching worriedly as he winced and clenched his eyes shut.

"Newkirk?" said Hogan, worriedly.

"I'm okay, guv," he answered, the lie obvious.

Hogan sighed and rubbed his forehead. Looking at Carter, he made a motion with his head as if telling the sergeant to leave them alone for a minute.

Carter looked confused at the notion, but he obeyed and went outside, where most of the prisoners had stayed after roll call.

"Newkirk," Hogan said. "I told you last time not to do that again!"

Newkirk opened his eyes, baffled. "Wha?"

Hogan sighed again. "You took a bullet for me seven years ago, and you did the same thing again today."

"Of course I did," Newkirk replied, closing his eyes again. "Though I think I'm regrettin' it now!" he said, inhaling sharply and holding his breath as a stronger stab of pain laced through his side.

"I bet you are," Hogan said, gently. "Newkirk…as your commanding officer, _you_ are _my_ responsibility. I'm not _yours_."

"Yes ya are, guv," Newkirk said, exhaling carefully and reopening his eyes. "We protect ya the same way that you protect _us_. Would ya take a bullet for _me_?"

"Of course."

"Well then."

Hogan shook his head. "Seven years ago, I made you promise that you wouldn't do something like that for me ever again." He thought back to how close the young Private had come to death.

One corner of Newkirk's mouth lifted, despite the horrid pain. "I lied."

Hogan blinked, not expecting that for an answer.

"I was still a kid," Newkirk explained. "An' part of me meant it…I never wanted ta go through that _ever_ again…" he paused, remembering the lingering pain and long recovery. "Besides, I didn't think I'd ever see ya again anyway. Didja ever think we'd both end up POW's, an' in the same camp, even?"

Hogan shook his head, even though Newkirk couldn't see it with his eyes closed. "No, I didn't." Thinking for a minute, he suddenly made a decision. "I chose this camp, you know."

Newkirk frowned, eyes still closed. "Ya _chose_ it?"

Hogan nodded. "I flew into this area purposely, planning to get shot down near this camp so it would be the one that I'd set up base at."

"Why?"

"Because _you_ were in it."

Newkirk's eyes popped open and he almost sat up, in surprise. "Because _I_ was in it? Ya picked Stalag Thirteen because of _me_?!"

Hogan nodded. "Think about it. Here I am, a new prisoner brought into the camp and outranking everyone, and I suddenly initiate a 'no escape' rule and organize sabotage missions. I knew that it wouldn't be easy to set up, and when I found out that _you_ were here, I knew that this was the stalag where I'd have the best chance of success…because it would help dramatically to have someone here that I already knew…and because I knew that _you_ had what it took to be part of my team. Everyone else would be strangers to me, and I wouldn't know who was trustworthy, or who was even capable of going on such dangerous missions."

Newkirk was absolutely stunned. He stared at Hogan, speechless, almost too shocked to even feel the pain of his wound. He suddenly remembered how the colonel had asked him a ton of questions about each person in the camp, and now he knew why.

Hogan frowned. Newkirk was very pale, thanks to his injury, and he hadn't realized how much his words would shock the Englishman. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Newkirk blinked. "I 'ad no idea," he said. "What else can I say except that I'm 'onored?"

Hogan nodded. "It showed an incredible amount of courage to take a bullet for someone, and that's the kind of person that I knew I'd need by my side."

Newkirk smiled slightly. "I thought ya didn't want me ta take anymore bullets."

Hogan smiled back. "You _know_ what I mean."

Newkirk chuckled, before suddenly clenching his eyes shut with a gasp of pain.

Hogan reached over and grasped his arm, watching worriedly as Newkirk paled further. "Take it easy," he said.

Newkirk groaned, letting out his breath.

Hogan went over to the sink and poured a glass of water, bringing it back to the bunk and lifting Newkirk's shoulders up just high enough so he could drink. When the Englishman was finished, Hogan gently laid him back down. They were silent for a minute before Newkirk spoke again.

"I'll always be by ya side, guv. You'll never get shot while ol' Newkirk's around."

Hogan sighed. "From experience, apparently _I_ can't say the same."

Newkirk didn't expect that for an answer, and he outright laughed, before gasping loudly and clenching his fists. The next sound he made was an odd combination of a laugh _and_ a groan.

Hogan shook his head. "I think it would be healthier for you if we stopped talking!"

"I…think…_so_…" Newkirk agreed. He opened his eyes before immediately closing them again. "Everythin's spinnin'."

"You lost a lot of blood. Just rest," Hogan said. "Try to sleep."

Newkirk didn't answer, but his expression relaxed. Either he _had_ fallen asleep, or the pain from laughing was too much and he'd passed out.

Hogan checked the Englishman's pulse, finding it faster as his body tried to compensate for the blood loss, but not dangerously so. He grabbed some blankets off nearby bunks and covered Newkirk with them, before whispering, "I need you on my team until the day that we all walk out the stalag's front gate…don't take anymore bullets for me, huh?"

Newkirk moved his head slightly, apparently partly awake. "Front…gate…" he mumbled.

Hogan smiled. "I'll take that as a promise."

THE END


	9. Something to Live For

**Something to Live For  
**A Hogan's Heroes story by Deana Lisi  
Disclaimer: I don't own any Hogan's Heroes characters.

**********

Newkirk didn't resist as two German soldiers dragged him—literally—through the woods and back to the Stalag. He barely heard anything that Klink yelled at him, until the Kommandant mentioned transferring him to Stalag Eight…the Stalag that every allied prisoner feared.

Blinking, Newkirk just stared, thinking he'd heard wrong. "Transferred? Stalag Eight?"

Klink smiled and clasped his hands behind his back. "I knew that would get your attention! Yes, Corporal, you will be transferred to Stalag Eight in the morning, never to be a thorn in my side again!"

Newkirk said nothing, shocked to the core. He made no sound when the guards yanked him out of Klink's office and brought him to the cooler, roughly throwing him inside.

Stunned, Newkirk remained where he'd landed; body aching all over…but his heart was aching even more. The last year had been hell…everyone knew the risk of being captured and thrown into a prison camp, but Newkirk never thought that his plane would be one that would get shot down. He flew many missions without even a scratch, and perhaps became overconfident. The day that his plane had been hit and crashed was the scariest day of his life. As the plane went down, he tried to parachute out, but the hatch was stuck and refused to open. He panicked, sure that he was going to die, and the next thing he knew, he'd woken up in one of Stalag Thirteen's cells.

At first, he was relieved to have survived…but that relief didn't last very long.

Klink had tried to interrogate him, to gain whatever information he could, but Newkirk had sustained a head injury in the crash and used it to his advantage, pretending to have trouble remembering and then faking a faint. Once he was assigned to a barracks, he purposely chose a top bunk and hardly ever came down from it. Some of the other prisoners tried to befriend him, knowing what he was going through, but he didn't respond very much, even when they tried to coax him with food.

But Newkirk wasn't hungry. He didn't think he'd be hungry ever again.

Eventually, some of the shock and despondency wore off as he began to realize that he had no choice but to accept life at Stalag Thirteen, possibly for however long the war lasted…but that didn't mean he had to like it. From then on, Newkirk tried to escape…again, and again, and again, and again…

This last time, he'd almost made it! He'd gotten through the wire and bolted, but a searchlight got lucky and flashed directly on him, and guards had fired. A bullet deeply grazed his left arm, but he kept running…until he passed out from blood loss. Naturally, the guards caught up with him, and that was the end of _that_ escape attempt.

Newkirk groaned and threw his uninjured arm across his eyes. What good was he now? He was supposed to be defending his country…helping to keep England safe from their enemies…helping to protect his family, his friends…his _people_. What good could he do while locked up in a German prison camp? _No good, _he told himself. _Ya can't do any good because __you're__ no good, Peter_...

Abruptly, Newkirk had the vague feeling that time had passed, when suddenly, he felt someone trying to lift him off the floor, and he gave a cry of shock, badly startled.

"Take it easy, don't move," he heard.

The voice sounded familiar, and Newkirk stilled, feeling himself lifted and placed on the cell's cot. He winced from the pain in his arm, and the voice said something else to him. Sudden recognition slammed into his fuzzy brain, and his eyes popped open as he tried to sit up. "Major Hogan!"

The American pilot smiled at him, holding his shoulders to keep him lying flat. "It's _Colonel_ Hogan now," he said. "Long time no see."

Newkirk was speechless. _Major Hogan_? he thought, having not caught the 'colonel' bit. _Here in Stalag Thirteen?_ His battered mind and body couldn't handle the sudden surge of adrenaline, and he felt his head plop back down to the cot under its own power.

Hogan's smile faded as he watched the corporal. The first time they'd met was shortly after Hogan had started training RAF pilots to fly the B-17 fighter plane. Newkirk was one of the trainees, and had been a healthy twenty-five-year-old who only looked about nineteen.* Now, five years later, Newkirk was thinner, to the point of being scrawny, and looked somewhat older than his thirty years. When Hogan had entered the cell and seen the man lying bloody and passed out on the floor, he barely believed that it was really his young friend.

The past year had obviously not been kind to Peter Newkirk.

Hogan sighed and reached up with a wet towel, wiping blood off the corporal's forehead. He unexpectedly found that his skin felt feverish, but he wasn't surprised. Illnesses often spread quickly in camps full of malnourished and abused prisoners. "Newkirk?" he said. "Are you awake?"

It took a minute, but the Englishman opened his eyes again and coughed, weakly. "Guv'nor?" he said, sounding dazed. "Is it really you, or am I dreamin'?" He grabbed the colonel's arm, as if making sure he was real.

Hogan smiled again, squeezing the Englishman's shoulder in an effort to reassure him. "It's really me, Newkirk."

Newkirk shook his head, genuinely thrilled to see him. "When did ya get 'ere?"

"Today," Hogan told him. "Imagine my shock when I heard that a prisoner had escaped, and that it was _you_."

Newkirk smiled slightly at that, before his face unexpectedly fell.

Hogan frowned. The corporal suddenly seemed to be on the verge of tears…and he _knew_ Newkirk; he wasn't the type to show that kind of emotion easily. "What's wrong?"

Newkirk seemed unable to speak for a minute, and closed his eyes. "Klink is gonna…gonna transfer me tomorrow…" Now he felt worse than ever. Major Hogan was here…the one person outside his family that Newkirk _really_ trusted…and now he was going to a different Stalag.

Hogan shook his head. "No he isn't."

Newkirk's eyes popped open. "What?"

Hogan shrugged. "I talked him out of it."

Newkirk's mouth opened and closed twice, and he tried to sit up again.

Hogan helped him this time, grabbing a blanket from the floor and wrapping it around him before gently leaning him back against the wall.

Newkirk looked at the blanket in shock as he pulled it closed, wondering where Hogan had gotten it. He saw that his arm had been bandaged, and he wondered where Hogan had gotten the medical supplies, too. He coughed again, before saying, "Whatcha mean ya talked 'im outta it?"

Hogan smiled and sat next to him on the cot. "I just have a way with people, I guess."

Newkirk blinked.

Hogan could see that the corporal was too battered to handle mental games at the moment. "I told him that I would straighten you out. No more escapes, no more causing trouble. I told him that I would make you a 'model prisoner', and his answer to that was, 'this I _have_ to see'."

Newkirk's eyebrows shot up. "No more escapes! Major!"

Hogan ignored the fact that Newkirk couldn't get his rank right, and held up a hand. "No, listen." He looked outside the cell to ensure that no guards could hear him. "I was sent here," he whispered. "On a mission."

"A mission? In a POW camp?!"

"Shh!" Hogan said. "I've come to establish a…" He shrugged. "A traveler's aid society, if you wanna call it that. We're gonna help downed fliers get out of Germany, and do everything possible to sabotage the krauts."

Newkirk's mind was in a whirl. "But 'ow?"

"I assume tunnels are being dug?"

"Of course."

"That'll be the start of it," Hogan said. "I'll explain it all to you later in my quarters."

"Which barracks did 'e assign ya to?" Newkirk asked.

"Barracks Two."

Newkirk's eyebrows shot up. "That's the one _I'm_ in!"

"I know," Hogan said, with a smile.

Newkirk smiled back…his first real smile in a _long_ time. "Sabotage missions, eh?"

Hogan nodded. "We'll have to build an espionage team. That is, if you plan to _join_ me."

Newkirk's eyebrows rose. "Of course I do, guv!" He suddenly coughed again, longer this time.

Hogan again felt the corporal's forehead, confirming that he did indeed have a fever. "First we have to get you healthy again, and then there'll be plenty to do to get rid of your stir-craziness." He stood and took Newkirk's good arm to help him up. "Come on, let's go."

"Go?" Newkirk said, confused. "Ya mean ya got Klink ta let me outta the cooler, too?!"

Hogan nodded, pulling him to his feet.

Newkirk was rendered speechless again. Too much had happened in the past hour, and his brain was having trouble accepting it all. He wavered on his feet, feeling lightheaded.

Hogan quickly pulled Newkirk's uninjured arm around his own shoulders. "Easy, I got you." He slowly led the Englishman out, and helped him back to Barracks Two. The door opened before they got there, and Hogan led him to the closest bottom bunk and sat him on it.

Newkirk leaned back against the wall, his arm and head throbbing. Eyes closed, he could hear people moving about, and he suddenly caught the scent of a cup of tea under his nose. Opening his eyes, he found Hogan sitting on the bunk holding it before his face, and he took it, sending a smile of thanks to the short Frenchman who he knew had prepared it for him.

"Are you all right, mon ami?"

Newkirk nodded. "I'm fine, Louis." He drank the whole thing down and handed him the empty cup. He looked up at the concerned faces that were all staring at him, and he suddenly felt guilty for keeping to himself so much. Everyone here was in the same situation that he was.

_Everyone_.

With shock, Newkirk suddenly realized that he wasn't alone…he hadn't been alone at _all_, the past year. And now that Colonel Hogan had arrived, he finally felt hope.

"Listen 'ere," he suddenly said. "I dunno if ya met this man yet," he said, gesturing towards Hogan. "But even if ya did, I'm gonna introduce 'im ta ya anyway. This is Maj—uh, _Colonel_ Hogan, the finest officer you'll ever meet, in _any_ army."

Hogan looked surprised at that.

"I know 'ow most enlisted men like us feel towards officers," Newkirk continued. "That so many of 'em are power 'ungry an' full of 'ot air."

"Hey!" Hogan joked.

Some of the men laughed.

Newkirk smiled and shook his head. "But no one need be wary of ol' Colonel Hogan…'e's the gov'nor, an' that's all there is to it."

Hogan smiled at that.

"Wow," one of the men replied. "I think that's the most you've ever spoken at once."

"Did you hear that?" another man said. "I didn't even know he was British!"

Everyone laughed at that one, including Newkirk. It made him cough again, and he tiredly closed his eyes.

Hogan stood from the bunk, pushing him to lie flat. "Get some rest," he said. "We'll discuss our mission later."

The corporal was eagerly looking forward to it. "Thanks, Colonel."

"For what?"

Newkirk reopened his eyes and smiled. "For givin' me somethin' ta live for again."

(And the rest, as they say, is history!)

THE END  
OMG I'm so proud of this one! I hope you all liked it as much as I do! LOL

* 'History Repeats Itself'...the oneshot right before this one!


End file.
